18. The Plan
Chapter 18
The Plan
Taz
The explosion was fast, bright, and loud as fuck, and I cackled with glee.
I cased the Prodigal Sons compound and waited until Trout left. Then, I simply followed him as he went to his home. I had to do a few passes, to make sure that he didn’t see us coming, but this had the markings of a pretty easy get.
Oh, how wrong I was…
I had parked at the side of the road and put some extra magazines in my pockets. Griff walked up with his M4, so I knew he’d be game.
I didn’t talk – I was still mad from that morning! And I wasn’t ready to forgive him.
But my silent treatment ended the moment the first explosion went off, and we both fell to the ground.
“What the fuck?” I yelled over the boom.
“You wanna fill me in, here, baby?” he growled at me.
“It’s… a bail thing!” I lied.
Mike Trout’s junk-riddled yard was apparently a cheap, and effective, disguise for an extreme number of booby traps. The ping of bullets hit the rusted, tin barrel I ducked behind.
Like a real Navy SEAL, Trout’s property was more than prepared for a small invasion - which was generally a strong indicator of wrongdoing.
“Did you have a plan for this one, Psycho?” Griff yelled as debris fluttered down around us. “Or were you just gonna roll up and ring his fucking doorbell?”
I laughed, “I mean… that usually works.”
“Well, it’s not fucking working now, is it?'' The frustrated edge in his voice was tickling my inner sadist, as he rolled behind the cover of an old, rusted car that passed as lawn ornaments in this part of Mourningkill. Not all trailers, or modular homes were trash. But Mike Trout’s home of record would have made the green monster that lived in the trash can on Sesame Street feel right at home.
A snake slithered out of a trash bag full of empty beer cans.
The guy liked to party.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” I asked.
“I dunno, maybe it died a couple claymores ago?” Griff held the M4 assault rifle in his hands, and peered over the hood of the car towards the house to see if it was clear.
Two shots pinged onto the rusted metal trailer house, and he ducked back down again.
“You wanna talk me through who the fuck your bail guy is?” he asked.
“Do I want to? No, not right now,” I admitted.
“Okay… smart ass, can you tell me about the target before you and I get dead?” His growing frustration amused me. It shouldn’t, given the circumstances, but when things between me and Griff were good, life was great. When we were peers, shoulder to shoulder.
It was like the old days, when we were deployed.
“He’s DEVGRU,” I said, as shots pinged overhead, and a tree branch from an overgrown willow fell to the ground. “Though, you wouldn’t know it from how shitty his aim is!”
I pushed up and rolled behind a tree, hoping it gave more cover than the barrel I was behind. I couldn’t quite figure out if getting behind a rusted tractor, or staying behind a thick cluster of cedars would be safer. It was kinda half a dozen in one hand, six in the other type of deal. A real conundrum.
When a small barrage of a semi-automatic assault rifle cut into the splintering wood, I low-crawled over to the tractor, putting my back to it and grinned.
“Jesus, you're smiling. What the fuck does that even mean?” Griff rubbed at his thigh, to the bullet he’d caught for me before Christmas. “You’re just winging it, aren’t you?”
“I have a plan!” The plan was to wing it.
“Care to share it with the rest of the class, sweetheart?”
I shrugged. “The plan was to go in guns blazing, catch the bad guy, and put him in the trunk.”
He sputtered, shaking his head. “Oh yeah, and how’s that fucking going?”
“Could be better.” I wasn’t really up for debating this, but God, I loved it when he was riled up in a crisis. “But come on, when does the plan ever last past the first shot?”
“Well, usually if you’re the one firing the first shot, you get a bit more fucking command and control of the situation!”
“Oh, you’re so boring,” I laughed. “Is that what you learned being a g-man?”
“How are you still alive?” He changed magazines, and I wondered how many he had. Probably a couple more in his pockets? Such a deadly little boy scout.
“Cover me while I move!” I yelled, before Griff could open his mouth and fight me.
I knew him. He wanted to make a quick exit and come back later with more strength. But that didn’t sound like fun.
“No!” he responded. “I don’t got you covered! Taz… you fucking crazy Psycho!”
I moved, running to a nearby bit of cover, ducking my head, running with a pistol in my right hand. I felt the air displace as Trout’s bullets whizzed around me. Pop! Pop! Pop! Griff got off three shots before I was down again, hiding behind a rusted pull trailer.
“I knew you had me covered,” I laughed, as I resumed the prone position with my pistol up.
Slightly closer to the blue, broke-down mobile home, I got a glimpse of the black leather cut of the Prodigal Sons on the back of the former Navy SEAL who had probably seen better gym days.
“Next time, I’m just going to let you get shot!” he threatened, but there was no bite to it. “I’m not catching another bullet for your reckless ass.”
“But you like my ass!”
He growled as he responded, “Cover me while I move.”
“Got you covered!” I lay down suppressive fire as he moved up his position, and the former SEAL kept on lobbing us with his poor shot.
“Are you drunk?” Griff asked the SEAL as he took cover behind some kind of potted plant. Not my first choice of cover, but it was better than nothing.
“Fuck ya’ll!” said Trout.
“Here, Fishy-Fishy!” I called out, smiling at an irate Kai Griffith.
He scowled back at me, which just made me happier.
With angry gesticulations, he let me know that he was going to go around, and that I was to stand there and lay down suppressive fire or pose as a decoy. I gave him a huge thumbs up. His eyes darkened even more, as his agitation for me grew.
“You missed me,” I told him, flashing him my sweetest possible smile.
The big ol’ grump rolled his eyes, sliding over to start low crawling around the house.
To keep Trout’s attention, I yelled, “Just come on in with us, polite and peaceful! We’ll treat you nice, I promise!”
“Fuck you!” Pop! Pop! Pop!
The guy had a limited vocabulary. Then again, he was a Navy SEAL. They weren’t recruited for their oratory skills.
“I promise I’ll treat you sweet,” I said, with a chuckle. “If you come in quietly, I’ll make sure there’s ice cream and cake.” I combat rolled to another position, just as he started opening fire to where I was. He had missed my movement, because he jumped when I called out, “I’ve got a nice, padded cell in Guantanamo with your name on it, baby. They have cable now and everything. All the reality TV you want.”
“Over my dead body,” I heard him say, just as his front door opened, and Griff’s voice came out loud and clear, and kinda sexy…
“That can be arranged.”
Bingo.
“Check it out, Griff,” I said, coming to my feet and dusting off my dirt-riddled thighs. “You caught a big fish!”
He didn’t think it was funny.
But I did.